


Let Me Avenge You

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Angst, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, i did next to no research lmao, its mostly based around the characters anyway, ive never written an mm fic before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-12-17 15:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21056771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: Set during the season 11 premiere Up From Ashes.Henry Higgins believes both his friends to be dead after the ambush at the church. What else can he do but work to the bone to avenge them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hmmMMMMmm hI there  
I decided to write this bc I wanted to see more of badass Henry in the season 11 premiere but we didn't really get much more of what was shown.  
And anyway, he was hurt too?? Like?? He legit thought George and Jackson were dead?? He thought he was alone?? I feel like people forget about him really easily.  
oKAY, so yeah, enjoy this fic. 
> 
> The chapters will probably vary in length tbh. Sometimes I write a crapton, and then sometimes it's one page long.

It had probably been close to five minutes since the last echo of footsteps had disappeared from within the church, but Henry could still hear the gunshots ringing in his ears.

He was fading in and out of consciousness, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the frightening scene play out before him: George getting struck first, his  _ best friend  _ falling limply to the ground; the almost slow-motion movement of the bullet that was headed towards Henry just before it made contact with his abdomen; the cry of Jackson as he, too, went down.

All of it would replay over and over, like a stuck moving picture, and every time, he  _ had  _ to open his eyes.

Every time he woke, he’d think it had all been just a dream.

And then the pain would come back, and the whole routine started again.

They’d been trying to help the detective. George had received a distress note from Murdoch and had gathered up Higgins and Jackson right away, leading them to the church.

Leading them into a trap.

Henry didn’t blame his friend, through. He probably would have done the same thing.

He just wished he hadn’t froze up with the first shot had been fired.

Now it had been maybe five minutes later, and he noticed that he was starting to feel more and more exhausted. The pain was subsiding, too. For a moment, Henry felt relieved.

Until he realized what it meant.

Oh, god, he was dying, wasn’t he?

Henry didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. He’d always imagined himself growing old with the woman of his dreams. What was the name of the young Newsome lady? Ruth? He was actually starting to like her.

His mind screamed at his body, wanting to get up, wanting to MOVE, but nothing was responding.

Henry was jerked rather suddenly out from his third time having to relive that nightmare by the light tapping of shoes against the tiled floor. His entire body felt heavy. His mouth was dry.

He hoped there was water when he got to… well, wherever he was going. Heaven? Hell? Did those even exist?

Would he even be _ thirsty _ after death?

Lost in delirious thought, Henry barely registered the sound of footsteps that stepped right past his head.

As he fell back into the darkness, he thought he heard a cry for help, but he chalked that off as being his blood-deprived brain.

He couldn’t see anything, but he could sense the presence of someone above him.

It made him uneasy. Was it more of Davis’ cronies? Had they come to finish them off? Or maybe just to sit there, to gleefully watch as the three constables writhed with agony.

_ Open,  _ he commanded his eyes.

_ Move,  _ he commanded his body.

Nothing responded.

The touch of the cool hand against his neck surprised him, and if it weren’t for being paralyzed by anguish, Henry probably would have jumped.

The pain came rushing back so fast that he wondered how he’d forgotten about it in the first place. Mentally, he screamed. In reality, it was merely a groan that escaped from his lips.

From what seemed like worlds away, Henry could just make out the pattering of dozens of other footsteps, all heading towards him.

And then the familiar voice that flooded him with relief.

_ “Get those two to the hospital, now!” _

Watts.

The new detective, of all people, had saved them.

Henry would have smiled if it weren’t for his body ignoring every request he sent.

_ “What about him?” _

_ “He’s for the morgue: I’ll handle that.” _

Barely aware of the situation, Henry still managed to identify the dread that ran through his entire body.

_ The morgue. _

One of them was dead, and it certainly wasn’t Henry.

_ Oh, god. _

A pair of hands began tanking him upright and he grunted in pain, the pressure that had been on his wound suddenly getting pulled away. Fresh blood spread across his uniform.

_ “Carefully!”  _ Watts snapped from someone to Henry’s left, yet miles away at the same time.

Someone slung his non-injured arm over their shoulder. Instinctively, Henry clutched the other close to his torso.

Henry couldn’t even manage to find the energy to move his legs, so opening his eyes took ten times the amount of effort.

The only light in the church came from the torches that he and his friends had brought along with them, yet it seemed blinding after spending what seemed like hours in painful darkness. Henry’s vision was blurry, and his head began to pound furiously.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He closed his eyes again.

Henry was half carried, half dragged out of the church.

Suddenly, the harsh, winter air was stinging at his face, and he could feel the cold snow seeping through his boots.

His wound hurt.

His heart hurt.

_ Everything _ hurt.

_ Just make it stop _ , he begged in his mind.

The only thing he remembered from the trip to the hospital was when the ambulance carriage hit a pothole.

They’d told him to rest for just a while longer. They told him to stay away from work for the next few days.

_ To hell with that _ .

Henry was tugging on his boots, struggling as he only had one working arm. The other had been broken in his fall, having collided with the side of a church pew.

“Oh, dear,” a rather flustered voice piped up from the doorway. “Mr. Higgins, I must insist you take it easy.”

Nurse Amber was a rather pretty young lady, with brown hair done up in a bun and strands that would fall in her face, no matter how tight she did her hair. Large chocolate eyes sparkled with curiosity and interest over top a small snub nose. Freckles dotted her cheeks.

Normally, Henry would have jumped at the chance to be nursed by such a pretty lady, but now, he didn’t even give her a second glance.

Okay, that was a lie, he did stop a moment to take in her features.

The urgency in his head forced him to return to tying up his laces in a pathetic one-handed knot.

“Do let me help,” Nurse Amber tutted, not even waiting for a response as she knelt down and tied up the knot in one fell swoop. Henry sighed and leaned back, stretching his arm above his head. As he moved, the bed creaked, and the newspaper that lay atop the mangled covers shifted a bit.

In the end, nothing had mattered.

Both of his friends had died. George at the scene, and Jackson while in transport to the hospital.

There were many memories that Henry had to cling onto, yet the one his mind chose to focus on was the time when the three of them had all gone out for drinks after solving one particularly tough case. The night had started with a drinking contest, (which George had won, obviously) that slowly branched off into a drunken fight over who’d had the most success with ladies. God knows how, the subject of Edna Brooks and her son was brought up, and George had taken a swing at Jackson, which landed Higgins square in the face instead.

It was a night they all vowed to never speak of.

Why was he thinking of this now?

“It’s terribly tragic, isn’t it?” Nurse Amber said, jerking Henry out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Those constables,” Amber clarified, gesturing sadly towards the newspaper. “I understand they were your friends.”

“They were shot doing what was right,” Henry said bitterly. Embarrassment flushed Nurse Amber’s face. “I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s just a fact,” Henry found himself saying, unable to lie. Guilt squeezed at his chest when he saw the sadness that flooded Nurse Amber’s face, and he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I do apologize. That was callous.”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” the pretty nurse insisted, straightening her hat. “I should never have brought it up.”

An awkward silence fell between them.

Henry cleared his throat and gathered up his newspaper. “Well, I suppose I ought to get going.”

“Of course, Mr. Higgins,” Nurse Amber stuttered, smiling. “I do hope you’ll take what I said about going easy to heart.”

“Indeed I will,” Henry responded, relieved to have finally found himself capable of lying again. He bent down and awkwardly wrestled his knapsack of belongings from under the bed, feeling his face turn red at causing such embarrassment to himself in front of the nurse.

“Good day,” he said, nodding to Nurse Amber. She gave a polite curtsey back.

Henry didn’t want to stay at his apartment for longer than necessary. He threw his knapsack on the bed, rather harsher than necessary, swiftly hung up his casual coat and replaced it with the constable’s tunic.

His fingers were numb as he did up the buttons.

A tailor had repaired the hole in the tunic, and the uniform had been washed and given back to him earlier this morning. It would have been a waste to throw it away, yet Henry couldn’t help but wish they’d given him a new one. One that wasn’t full of dreadful nightmares.

Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers.

He reached for the comb that lay beside the washroom sink and smoothed back his hair.

Combined with his tangled brown mop, the dark bags under his eyes, and the paleness of his cheeks, Henry could barely recognize himself in the mirror. Not to mention the sling that inhibited his writing ability.

He stared at himself for a good couple of minutes. Absentmindedly, he found his hand drift to the lower left side of his abdomen, where the bullet had struck him. His operation at the hospital had been a success, however painful it was. They told him he’d have a nasty scar there for the rest of his life, but the bullet was out, and he was on the road to recovery.

Unlike a certain two.

“God,” Henry murmured, hanging his head. He didn’t want to  _ look  _ at himself any more.

What could he do? His hands were tied, the detective had been brought in on the same night Henry had been rushed to hospital, Doctor Ogden was nowhere to be found, and his best friends were dead.

What could he do?

_ What could he do? _

Robert Graham was behind this. Robert Graham and that bastard Franklin Williams. Davis certainly played a big part in everything, too.

All of a sudden, it clicked for Henry.

He knew what he was going to do.

He buckled up his belt, slipped on his boots, and grabbed his constable helmet that lay on the table in the main room. 

He couldn’t turn back time, but, by god, he was going to get his revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Station House is in shambles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo gang, I'm back with a new chapter! This one is a bit shorter and has a mix of in-show dialogue and stuff I just made up.  
Hope you guys enjoy!

Henry was standing just a few feet away from the Station House entrance, and he couldn’t find the strength to move.

Henry had always entered the station with a strut to his step, arms swinging, head held high. He loved his job. He loved being a constable, even if he was yelled at by the inspector sometimes. 

The looks the ladies gave him made it all worth it.

But now, Henry was glued in place, just staring dumbly as constables and citizens trickled in and out.

_ I have to go in,  _ he told himself.  _ I have to get those corrupt guys behind bars. _

But his gut wanted him to turn back.

_ No harm in taking another day off!  _ it claimed.  _ Or another two! Heck, maybe you don’t even have to come back at all! _

Henry was moments away from walking away when a familiar voice boomed from behind him.

“Well, I’ll be!” it said. “Is that Higgins?”

Before Henry knew it, Constable McNabb had slung his arm around his shoulder, giving him a friendly shake. Henry winced as pain spiked through his arm. Seeing his expression, McNabb took a step back. 

“I can’t say I expected you back so soon,” Constable McNabb continued as the two of them walked to the station house doors. “I thought it would be at least another week before I saw your face.”

“Couldn’t stand lying around doing nothing,” Henry said, which was partly true. He nodded in thanks as McNabb opened the door for him.

The air inside the station house was heavy and suffocating. The environment seemed almost lifeless, as if all colour had been sucked out. Everyone single constable Henry could see wore an expression of indifference and gloom. 

“What happened here?” Henry muttered. He couldn’t help but glance into Murdoch’s office, which was, of course, empty. McNabb sighed. “Not a couple of hours ago, Franklin Williams was in here, talking about how the station house is going to stand down.”

“Stand down?” Henry repeated. “You mean, from the case the detective was working on?”

“From everything,” McNabb clarified grimly. 

Any other day, any other circumstance, Henry would have jumped at the chance to be paid to sit around and do nothing. But now, instead of relief, all he felt was hatred.

“And where’s Inspector Brackenreid? Detective Murdoch?” Of course, Henry had read the paper. He knew that the detective had been brought in. Still, some part of him hoped that he’d been cleared.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

“The detective's in the cells. As for the inspector, well, no one knows.”

“He went missing too?”

“Someone says he was last seen with Chief Constable Davis, but honestly, we don’t know how reliable those statements are. Currently, we have a young lady by the name of Miss Marsh in charge.”

Henry turned towards the inspector’s office, where a blonde woman was sitting at the desk Inspector Brackenreid always sat at. She was looking through some papers.

“So, basically, everyone we can trust has been knocked out of commission,” Henry said flatly. 

Constable McNabb gave a shrug. “That detective from Station One, Detective Watts, comes through sometimes. I don’t know where he is now, though.”

Detective Watts. Henry still had to thank him for his help at the church the other day.

“There’s Miss James down at the morgue, too,” Henry added. “That is, if she’s still there.”

“To the best of my knowledge, she is. Watts has talked with her apparently. I’m taking a good guess that they’re on our side.”

“Oi, McNabb!” another constable suddenly shouted from across the room, making Henry jumped a bit. “I need you over here!”

“I’ll be right there!” the red headed constable replied. He turned to Henry, giving his non-injured shoulder a squeeze. “Glad to have you back, Henry. Take it easy, yeah?”

“Sure,” Henry muttered as McNabb walked away.

_ “Take it easy.”  _ Yeah, right. Whether Franklin and his man Graham wanted to or not, Henry was working this case. He would do it by himself, if he absolutely had to. 

Out of habit, he started for the detective’s office, stopping himself just in time.

Right. He wasn’t in there.

Henry turned around. Perhaps he should pay a visit to the detective, but he didn’t feel up to a trip round back to the cells. Not yet.

Henry gave a heavy sigh and looked up. The memorial pictures of Jackson and George glared at him.

_ Why couldn’t you save us? _

_ I wish I could have,  _ he responded in his mind.

_ Why couldn’t you save us? _

“I need to sit down,” Henry muttered to himself, grabbing the back of his seat as his head began to spin.

In front of him sat George’s empty desk, which only fueled his depression.

As clear as if it were happening right then, Henry could see his best friend crumpling up a piece of paper to hurl at him.

The memory, which was supposed to be a happy one, now dragged him down.

“Constable Higgins,” an unfamiliar voice said, dragging him out of his flashback. 

Standing before him was Miss Marsh, the woman who was apparently in charge of the whole station. How one woman would be able to manage dozens of men, Henry couldn’t fathom.

“Glad to see you’re recovering,” Miss Marsh said, a genuine smile on her face.

“Where’s the inspector?” Henry blurted out before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help it. He just wanted to know.

“He’s a wanted man; I don’t know,” Miss Marsh responded curtly.

Henry couldn’t say he could believe her. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Simply what I’m told,” she said with a shrug. “I’d advise you to do the same.” There was a momentary pause. “Welcome back.” Then without so much of a second glance, she walked away. Henry watched her go, mind whirring.

The men came storming into the station house like they owned the place. It was almost three in the afternoon, and Henry still hadn’t taken a break for lunch. He’d been hauling files back and forth under his coat to make sure no one saw them. He worked out back in the alley, in the washrooms, inside the interview room. Anywhere away from prying eyes.

Hunger gripped at his stomach. He’d told himself just ten more minutes, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold out that long. He desperately wanted a sandwich.

When the men came into Station House Four, Henry almost threw his files everywhere.  _ They’ve come for me,  _ was his first thought.

But the men didn’t even give him a second glance. They pushed through the crowd of confused constables with determination on their faces, throwing open the door to the detective’s office.

There were three of them in total. They all wore dark clothing, and none of them had taken their hats off at the door. Henry didn’t need someone to tell him that they were William’s men.

He wanted to punch them.

“Don’t make a scene,” he whispered to himself, slowly walking back to the file cabinet. He pretended to be browsing as a constable walked by. No one had to know what he was up to. No one needed to know. Not even Constable McNabb.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the constable, but one could never be too careful.

There was a sudden series of clattering from Detective Murdoch’s office and Henry whirled around.

Inside the office, the men were practically tearing it apart. Throwing files onto the floor, pulling draws clean out of cabinets.

Henry couldn’t stand it. He was one of the last still standing amongst this mess of a conspiracy. He had to do something.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he barked at the men. They didn’t even react.

“Oi!” he yelled. “I’m talking to you!”

One of them stood up, eyes shadowed by his hat. It made him look extremely menacing.

“Nothing worth your concern,” he growled. Henry’s grip on the doorknob tightened.

“Actually, it is of my concern,” he said firmly, refusing to back down so easily. He was very aware of the dozens of eyes that stared at him, one pair belonging to Miss Marsh, but he pretended to ignore them.

“You can’t be in here,” Henry continued as the men resumed destroying Detective Murdoch’s office. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man from before silently got to his feet, taking slow, methodical steps towards the constable until he was inches away from him. Henry instinctively took a step back.

“I advise you don’t go stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong,” the man said in a low, threatening voice. Henry took a quick glance outside, where it seemed like all the other constables had averted their gaze.

Henry may come across as foolish, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when to back down.

It didn’t mean he was happy about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing sassy Higgins


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two familiar faces make an appearance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (almost) Halloween everyone! I hope you enjoyed Murdoch's Halloween special, because I certainly did xD  
Too bad George wasn't in it, though  
Anyway, here's chapter three! I originally did not mean for this fic to be longer than two chapters, but apparently, this is probably gonna go on for several more. Not that I'm complaining. Writing Henry is surprisingly fun!

The twenty dollar bill felt heavy in his hand, as if he was carrying an anvil, not a mere slip of paper. And what made this mere slip of paper heavy was guilt. Guilt over the fact that it wasn’t meant to still be in his pocket; guilt that it was meant to no longer be his.

It belonged to a dead man.

Looking back on everything, none of the items Henry had bought back then had been of importance. They’d been more of a want rather than a need.

Except the boots, because Henry seemed to have an annoying habit of accidentally stepping in every mud puddle he came across.

Henry stared at the twenty dollars, then to George’s desk, then back at the twenty dollars. He couldn’t just leave it on his friend’s desk; someone would come along and snatch it up. Could he put it in the desk drawer? No, that would be a waste, and someone would come across it eventually.

Henry gave a short sigh and turned around, telling himself he’ll deal with it later, when the Police Widow’s Fund box caught his eye.

_ George wouldn’t mind this,  _ Henry thought as he dropped the bill into the box. He was thinking of Edna Brooks as he did so. Edna and Simon, who were long gone, but could have easily ended up being part of a new expansion of the Crabtree family.

The donation would help other families, too. Families with men who were on the force. Children.

_ George wanted children. _

Henry wished his mind would stop reminding him of certain events.

He turned back around, heading back towards the file cabinet to locate some more information on Franklin Williams, when he bumped into a familiar slouching man.

“Oh, pardon,” Detective Watts drawled, voice monotone like always. Henry had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “Watts?”

“That is my name, yes.” Watts gave him a cocked eyebrow.

“Uh, detective,” Henry blurted, correcting himself. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I am looking for whoever is currently in charge of Station House Four,” Watts announced, craning his neck to look around the bullpen. “The inspector is not in, I presume?”

“No, sir,” Henry responded, knowing better than to ask how Watts knew this.

“Of course not,” Watts muttered under his breath, so quiet Henry almost missed it. “Constable, would you mind telling me the name of that young lady currently sitting in Inspector Brackenreid’s office?”

Henry turned to follow the detective’s gaze. “That would be Miss Penelope Marsh, sir,” he explained. “According to McNabb, Williams gave her orders to watch over the station house. We’re to stand down from any cases, too.”

“Stand down?” Watts repeated, still staring through the window of the inspector’s office. If Miss Marsh hadn’t been so preoccupied with the papers she was holding, she would have thought it weird. “Is it because you don’t have a detective currently employed?”

“Well, I-I,” Henry stuttered, shrugging, “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Quite right,” Watts said, but he wasn’t really listening. Without so much of a second glance, the detective spun on his heel and made his way towards Inspector Brackenreid’s office. Henry moved to follow, then stopped himself. He probably wouldn’t be allowed in.

He chose to pretend to work at George’s old desk, where he could eavesdrop without suspicion.

Not five minutes later, Henry could feel his blood boiling. He thought Watts was going to waltz in there and give Miss Marsh a piece of his mind. Instead, the detective had all but cozied up to her, even offering his loyalty to her.

As Watts emerged from the inspector’s office, Henry stormed right up to him, nostrils flaring.

“What are you doing cozying up to her?” he demanded. “Even  _ I  _ wouldn’t stoop that low.” And that was saying something.

Watts merely remained his cool, taking careful steps forward. “I’m getting close to the action, constable.”

“So, you’re in charge here now that Detective Murdoch is gone?”

“I am the detective of record, yes.”

As they reached the detective’s office, he gave a huff of disgust. “What happened here?”

The men from earlier had trashed the place to the point where it was barely recognizable. The books had been pulled off the shelves, a dozen or so of the detective’s inventions lying on the floor, some of them in multiple pieces. The desk was so messy that Henry was sure Murdoch would faint if he laid eyes on it.

“Some men from Williams’ office came rifling around in here,” Henry explained, defeated. “I don’t know what they were looking for.” Fortunately, it seemed like they hadn’t found what they were looking for, either. They’d left the station house in an angry huff, muttering curses under their breath.

Watts looked thoughtful. “I would suppose,” he began, “either something that makes Detective Murdoch look guilty, or their boss… innocent.”

Henry wouldn’t disagree with that.

“We should clean it up.”

Henry blinked, turning towards the detective. “Why?”

“Do you want Detective Murdoch coming back to work and seeing this?”

Henry pondered on this for a second.  _ Fair point,  _ he thought.  _ But will Detective Murdoch come back to work at all? _

He mentally slapped himself, telling himself not to be such a pessimist. Of  _ course  _ Detective Murdoch would return. He always did, no matter what. Whether he was lost in England with no memory or trapped in a cage at James Gillies' mercy; the detective never gave up.

And Henry shouldn’t either.

Watts had already begun cleaning the office by the time Henry snapped back into reality. With only one working arm, putting drawers back was a much harder task, so he preoccupied himself by gathering up papers and files.

“Uh, Detective Watts, sir,” Henry stuttered out after a moment of silence. Watts glanced up from the bookshelf he was putting back together. “Hm?”

“Sir, I, uh…” Henry felt the tips of his ears go red. How was he supposed to go about saying something like this?

“I just wanted to thank you… for what happened at the church.”

“I can assure you, constable,” Watts said, puzzled, “I wasn’t part of the men who shot you.”

“No, no, I mean what happened  _ after, _ ” Henry corrected quickly. Watts’ expression cleared and he nodded. “That makes much more sense.”

“It’s just… I probably wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, sir.” An awkward pause. “And I know that George and Jackson couldn’t make it-”

Something flashed in the detective’s eye, something unfamiliar, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“-but I’m still around. And I’m going to fight for them. So thank you.”

The ghost of a smile was playing on Watt’s face. “You are most welcome, Henry,” he said, giving him a nod. “And you can trust me: George and Jackson would be proud of the work we’re doing here.”

Henry gave a small nod, but he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. By the expression on Watts’ face, he didn’t either.

They finished cleaning the detective’s office in silence.

Even being in Miss Marsh’s presence made Henry’s skin crawl. True, she was not as slimy as those men Frank Williams or Robert Graham, but working with them was good enough reason for Henry to hate her. 

Especially after she questioned after George and Jackson’s murders and then denied the obvious evidence that lay in front of her.

Henry hated her, but Watts had made it clear that he’d have to put up with her for just a little while longer. For now, a plan was hatching.

And the plan had just gotten a whole lot better.

“Dr. Ogden?!” Henry exclaimed out loud, unable to contain his surprise. Dr. Ogden’s eyes widened and she brought a finger to her lips, ordering him to quiet down. Henry winced, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. Fortunately, it seemed that the streetcars had made too much of a ruckus for anyone to overhear.

“ _ Dr. Ogden?! _ ” Henry repeated, in a whisper this time. Julia nodded, a smile spreading across her face under the fake moustache she had on. “Indeed, Henry. I’m… sure seeing me like this is a little bit of a shock.”

_ You’re wearing a suit,  _ Henry wanted to say. Instead, what came out was “yeah.”

“But… why are you here?” he asked, careful to keep his voice low. “Shouldn’t you be hiding from Graham and Williams?”

“I am hiding,” she replied. “I’m hiding in plain sight. No one can recognize me unless they get a good look.”

Henry nodded. It had taken him a moment to finally register that the person in front of him was Dr. Julia Ogden when she’d first pulled him aside.

“I’ve come to see William,” she said, a vague pleading tone in her voice. “He’s here, is he not?”

“Well…” Henry took a deep breath. “He’s in the cells. I don’t think coming in to see him would be-”

“I shall pretend to be his lawyer,” Julia said firmly, already starting for the entrance of Station House Four. “I know a thing or two about the law, working with the police and all. Besides, Inspector Brackenreid will-”

“Inspector Brackenreid is not here,” Henry said, jumping in front of the doctor. Julia stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“We don’t know where he is,” he explained glumly. “We have this woman, Miss Marsh, running our station at the moment. I highly doubt she’ll let you in.”

“Well, we have to at least try, don’t we?” Dr. Ogden sighed, then before Henry could even open his mouth to answer, she stepped right inside.

Just as Henry had predicted, Miss Marsh was indeed suspicious. “You are to refer all complaints to Station Five,” she stated firmly, eyeing the “man” that stood at the front. 

“Oh, I know,” Henry said, shaking his head. “He’s not here to register a complaint. That’s Detective Murdoch’s solicitar.”

“Why is he here?” Miss Marsh asked. Henry resisted the urge to smile.  _ She’s buying it! _

“The detective has made clear his intent to confess,” Henry stated, concentrating on keeping his voice even. “His attorney is here to counsel him.”

Seeing Miss Marsh’s skeptical expression, he added, “it’s the truth; I know it’s hard to believe.”

Miss Marsh gave a sigh. Henry crossed his fingers.

“I will need to inform Mr. Williams,” she said finally. “If Murdoch is gone when I return-”

“I watched two men die, Miss Marsh,” Henry interrupted, feeling his fist clench. “I’ve no intention of joining them.”  _ I’m doing this  _ for  _ them. _

Miss Marsh nodded before stepping past him.

_ It worked! _

Henry waited a couple seconds before turning around to fetch Doctor Ogden and leading her round back to the cells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short-ish chapter. Hope y'all don't mind.  
I used A LOT of in-episode dialogue for this, since we're in canon event time now. And don't worry: a Henry-George reunion scene is coming soon xD


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Watts, Miss Marsh, and Doctor Ogden seem to be hiding something..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't see much of Henry anymore past the thirteen minute mark until 42:23 so I took the plot lines we know of and wrote what I thought Henry would be doing during that time. It was kinda hard, actually, considering most of the action takes place without him knowing.  


"You seem to be faring rather well, Mr. Higgins," Nurse Amber observed, hanging her stethoscope back around her neck. She offered a warm smile as Henry did up the top button on his shirt. He returned the gesture. "I suppose it's you I should be giving the credit to," he said with a wink. She chuckled. "I wouldn't say that. It was the doctors who preformed the successful surgery, and you have been taking care of yourself the past few days. At least, I assume so?"

"That would be correct," Henry replied, only half lying. He grabbed his newspaper again and got to his feet, clearing his throat. "I ought to get going, then. They'll be needing me back at the station."

"I do hope you catch the dreadful men who did this," Nurse Amber said, expression sinking into solemness. "No, they are not men, they are monsters. I shiver at the mere thought of them roaming the streets."

"I assure you, ma'am," Henry said, tipping his hat, "they're no match for Constable Henry Higgins."

Nurse Amber laughed, a sound that stayed with Henry all the way to the station house. 

"Good morning, constable." Miss Marsh greeted him as he came through the door. In less than a second, the smile had disappeared from Henry's face. "Miss Marsh," he said, giving her a short nod.

"Mr. Williams will be coming around to the station house later this morning," she informed him. "Detective Murdoch has asked to speak with him. A deal of some sort."

"Mr. Williams? H-here?" Henry wasn't sure if he could stand to look him in the eye after what had happened not two days ago. He couldn't trust himself not to lunge at the man, or perhaps give him a good yelling match.

Miss Marsh was watching him with a careful eye. "Yes. Here. Is everything alright?"

Henry's free fist was clenched. He took a deep breath, telling himself to calm down.

Then he looked up and smiled coldly at Miss Marsh. "Everything is fine, ma'am."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but Henry had already walked to his desk by that time.

True to what Miss Marsh had said, Franklin Williams dropped by the station house like he owned the place. Henry could tell when the man entered: a sudden chill had made it's way inside.

Chatter died down as Williams walked through the crowd like Moses in the red sea, not even bothering to give the constables a second glance as he made his way for the Inspector's office where Miss Marsh was sitting. They gave each other a firm handshake upon greeting.

And then came William Murdoch.

He was tailed by Watts, who was obviously doing the bare minimum to keep Murdoch "under lock and key". Per his usual behaviour, Watts was more fascinated by a butterfly on the ceiling than at the current situation.

They entered the Inspector's office and the door closed.

Now, the walls weren't soundproof, but the constables had long since learned how to turn off their hearing at certain points. It wasn't that Henry didn't know how, it was that he refused to do so.

"I understand you spoke with counsel," Williams began. "Where is he?"

"He's attending to another matter," Murdoch replied calmly. "But I've made a decision."

Henry leaned back just the slightest bit.

"I'll confess to the murder of Lydia Hall once I see my wife."

Henry could have laughed out loud. _Good luck finding her, _he thought, smirking. Dr Ogden, having no where else to go, was boarding at Henry's apartment. Besides, no one could recognize her in the outfit she wore.

"...and I'll not be spending another night in that cell."

"We can have you transferred."

"You do that and I'll be killed. There isn't a jail cell in Ontario where I would be safe."

For the first time since the conversation had started, Henry heard Watts speak up. "That's true."

Was this going where he thought this was going?

"Why does that matter?" Williams growled. "if you confess to murder, you'll most likely be hanged."

"I'll be no trouble," Murdoch responded with an uneasy level of calm. "I just want my wife back, safe and sound."

Henry could _hear _the smirk on the Detective's face.

Every single constable on duty at Station House Four was gathered around when Detective Murdoch was led, still in handcuffs, into the prisoner transfer carriage. "Is he really going to the Don Jail?" Constable McNabb asked, keeping his voice low. Henry, realizing that there were few, if any, who knew what he knew, shook his head. "He's going home, actually. They're keeping him under guard."

"That's bold," the red-head constable said. Henry smirked. "Well, the Detective isn't the kind of man to roll over and give up."

Murdoch and Henry locked eyes for a moment, and Henry could swear he saw the detective wink at him before he was hauled into the carriage. He shook his head, telling himself it was just his imagination, and went back inside. He wanted to talk to Watts about Doctor Ogden. It had occurred to him that he didn't know of her location, therefore Detective Murdoch's compromise likely made no sense to him.

But when entered the bullpen again, he noticed that the station house was empty. And it wasn't just because nearly everyone was outside.

Detective Watts and Miss Marsh weren't in the Inspector's office anymore.

"Hey, Daniels?" Henry called to the desk sergeant. The bearded man glanced up. "Yes, Higgins?"

"You wouldn't happen to see where Detective Watts and Miss Marsh went, did you?"

"As a matter a fact, I did," Daniels replied, tapping his chin. "It was just after they brought Detective Murdoch out. As I recall, Miss Marsh left in rather a hurry, and Detective Watts followed not too long after."

"Thank you," Henry sputtered out, jogging back outside. The crowd of curious constables had dispersed right now, everyone returning to what they were doing before.

"Did you see which way Detective Watts went?" he asked Constable Rowan. He just shook his head.

"Oi, Pederson!" he yelled at the newest recruit of Station House Four. "Did you see where Miss Marsh or Detective Watts went?"

"Sorry, no," the lad replied before scuttling away. Henry let out a huff of frustration and headed off down Buckley street. They could've gone anywhere, and he wasn't about to roam the entirety of Toronto searching for them. He decided to head back to his lodgings and speak with Doctor Ogden. She'd asked to be informed on any updates regarding her husband, after all.

The door was locked when he finally reached his room, which struck him as odd. He'd specifically left it _un_locked for Doctor Ogden. Perhaps she'd run into trouble and had to lock the door.

Oh, god, he hoped that she hadn't been discovered.

"Doctor?" Henry called as loud as he dared, fishing around his pocket for the key. "It's just me. Henry. Constable Higgins. I have something to tell you."

The door creaked open and Henry poked his head in, carefully examining every nook and cranny before taking a careful step inside.

"Doctor Ogden?" He closed the front door behind him, checking the kitchen. She wasn't there.

"Doctor Ogden, you in there?" he asked, knocking on the door to the water closet. No answer there either.

The blankets he'd lent her last night were folded up cleanly on one end of the couch, the pillow fluffed up and propped nicely on the other end. _The Detective must have a tidy living space, _he thought absentmindedly.

He almost missed the note on the counter.

Henry could recognize Doctor Ogden's handwriting from the many morgue reports she'd written over the years. _Well, thank god she's not arrested, _he thought, relieved, as he opened the note.

_Thank you for your hospitality, Constable, _Doctor Ogden had wrote._ I have gone to find Detective Watts and will return later tonight. Signed, Doctor Julia Ogden._

Henry leaned against the counter and sighed, running his hand through his hair. 

They were hiding something. They were all hiding something. Henry wasn't so stupid that he was completely unaware of that, but he did know when prying would be unwelcome.

Now he wished he _had _pried, regardless of the reactions. He didn't like being left out of everything. It made him feel useless. It made him feel guilty. Two of his friends were dead, and on top of being forbidden to do any police work, he was too much in the dark to even help behind the scenes.

The clock chimed, dragging him out of his thoughts. Twelve o'clock. He should probably get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ew, this was slow. And a pain to write.  
I prOMISE the next chapter will be much more interesting. It involves much more action


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to wrap up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After chapter two, this got a lot harder and slower to write. I'm still not 100% proud of it but I wanted to get this done so I didn't leave y'all hanging forever  
Also Henry at LEAST deserves to have a fic about him finished, whether it's good quality or not.  
So, uh, here it is. The final chapter of Let Me Avenge You.  
Enjoy!

Henry was just packing up his desk when the news hit him.

It arrived in the form of a flurry of angered constables from Station House Five, all storming in, demanding to see Miss Penelope Marsh. It was constables Pederson and Daniels who managed to keep them at bay, explaining that Miss Marsh had gone to check up on Detectives Watts and Murdoch and hadn’t been back since.

“You absolute fool,” one of the constables growled, giving poor Pederson a harsh shove, “That’s not what she has been doing at all. She has been conspiring with Detective Murdoch to get Mr. Williams behind bars!”

“Hey, lay off the lad!” Henry exclaimed, planting himself in between the two constables. The moustached man eyed him with an expression that made Henry very uneasy.

“Besides,” Higgins continued, voice wobbling just the slightest, “what evidence do you have on this?” Truth be told, Henry could not bring himself to believe that Miss Marsh would switch sides just like that. Her loyalty appeared to cut as deep as George’s was to Murdoch.

“Your Detective Watts was seen with her luring Williams into Detective Murdoch’s apartment,” another constable sneered. He had a dark, bushy moustache. “Williams has not been accounted for since.”

“That doesn’t mean there’s a conspiracy at hand,” McNabb jumped in.

“Perhaps not,” the moustached man said, “but we do have witness reports of your Inspector Brackenreid dragging  _ our  _ Chief Constable Davis into a dark alleyway. Care to explain that?”

There was silence. The constable gave a short chuckle. “Thought so.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” McNabb said, squaring his shoulders. “All of you!” Standing at nearly six-foot-three, it wasn’t hard for McNabb to look threatening, even with carrot-top hair.

The Station Five constables cleared out, muttering threats under their breath. McNabb heaved a sigh, shoulders going slack again. “What a bunch of thick-headed men,” he commented.

“McNabb,” Henry began, “do you think it’s really  _ possible  _ that Miss Marsh is helping us?”

“Excuse me?”

“She just doesn’t seem like the type of woman to… do that. She seemed very insistent that her boss was innocent the last time we spoke.”

“Well,” McNabb sighed, leaning against the desk, “I suppose any one person is allowed to a change their attitude. Perhaps she came to her senses.”

“Maybe,” Henry mumbled, turning around. “And if that is the case, then shouldn’t  _ we  _ be doing something as well?” It made him angry, his uselessness. He had been told he was a daft, unintelligent copper, but none of that ever really stuck with him. What other people thought of him didn’t matter. (Unless said other people were the Inspector).

When it was his own mind judging him, it hit the hardest.

His eyes had caught the photographs of Jackson and George that still hung on the wall beside his desk. The dark cloud that hung over him seemed to be suffocating. He took a deep breath.

“You know,” McNabb said, startling Henry a bit, “Williams told me to take those down. Twice.”

“But they’re still up,” Henry pointed out, narrowing his eyes in confusion. McNabb gave a slight smirk. “They’re still up because I put them back up.”

“You didn’t get in trouble?”

“I did, and I reckon I will again the next time Williams comes in, but that’s not going to stop me from hanging them back up again.” He chuckled. “That’s what I’m doing.”

A spark flickered to light in Henry’s mind and he jerked upright, grabbing his helmet off the desk. McNabb straightened up too, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. He was watching Henry with an amused expression.

“That actually helped somewhat, McNabb,” Henry said, giving the carrot-top constable a nod. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Henry.”

Henry’s flashlight lay in the top drawer of his desk. He almost dropped it in his hurry, panic flooding through him as he wondered what would happen if he broke his third flashlight that year, but fortunately, he managed to snag it before it shattered to the ground.

While Henry had never once been to the Detective’s hotel, George had, and George never ceased to boast about it. It made Henry smile sadly, just thinking about everything his friend would say. He hadn’t been a very humble fellow, despite what he would claim. Whether it was about successful book (an amazing read, Henry might add), his career, or his love life, George had always spoken highly of himself. It used to irritate Henry, but now he found himself willing to give anything just to hear his friend boast one more time.

“Excuse me,” Henry muttered, pushing past a group of smartly-dressed young men in the lobby, racing for the closing elevator doors. He managed to get there just in time, squeezing himself in among the others.

A couple of them gave him sideways glances, perhaps wondering if yet another crime had been committed in the very same hotel the infamous Detective Murdoch called home.

“Thank you,” Henry muttered to the elevator operator, heading through the opened doors. The detective’s room would be near the end of the hallway.

He wasn’t three feet from the elevator when one of the room doors was flung open.

“Damnit,” Henry hissed, ducking around a corner and pressing his back up against the wall. Footsteps thundered down the hall, getting closer and closer. He winced. Was someone coming to apprehend him? Had they known he’d come?

A man wearing ragged clothing ran past. Henry barely got a glimpse of him before he disappeared down the stairwell, but he was quite confident the man wasn’t one of Williams’ men. He’d barely given a second glance in Henry’s direction.

Henry waited a good couple of seconds before poking his head around the corner again. From the very same room, another man was emerging, carrying his coat in one hand and hat in the other. Henry squinted. There was something about him that looked familiar.

“Watts!” he exclaimed once the man’s face came into view. The detective’s head snapped up; he almost threw his coat into the air. “Goodness gracious, Henry, you scared the living daylights out of me!”

“Watts,” Henry said again, grinning. “What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” the detective answered. He was glancing around anxiously, foot bouncing. He had someplace he wanted to be.

The questions seemed to flood out of him. “What’s going on? Is the detective alright? Has Doctor Ogden been on contact? Who was that man just now?”

A hint of worry flashed in the Detective’s eyes as the last questioned rolled off Henry’s tongue. “No one you should concern yourself with,” Watts answered hastily. “Now I must insist you leave. Before you ask why, I’ll simply say this: the less you know the better.”

Henry stood there with his mouth open for a good couple of seconds before Watts decided he’d said enough and rushed into the stairwell.

Finally, his vocal cords began to work again.

Too little, too late.

“I- wait!” he called, knowing it was fruitless. The detective could not hear him from behind the closed stairwell door. Henry huffed a sigh of annoyance, turning around the look down the hall. The detective’s door had been shut sometime in the last few minutes. Whoever else was in there, if anyone, was unknown to Henry.

He didn’t like how little he knew.

“The less I know, the better?” he muttered, repeating the words Detective Watts had spoken. “What kind of advice is that?”

Henry could easily have gone against the detective’s wishes. Just a few steps and he could have been knocking on the detective’s door. It wouldn’t take much effort for him to insert himself in among the conspiracy.

But he found that he couldn’t do it.

So he turned and walked back towards the elevator.

_ _

Most of the constables had packed up and returned home by the time Henry entered the front doors. It had begun to rain a little: not pouring, but enough that his hair was sticking to his forehead and his teeth were chattering.  _ Better than snow,  _ he thought, wringing out his wet sling.  _ With snow comes ice, and with ice comes injuries. _

When he was just a lad, Henry had absolutely adored the rain. He would spend the entire day splashing in puddles, coming back inside a soaking and muddy mess and his mother would scold him, but she’d be smiling too.

Recalling these boyhood memories brought him the warmth of joy in amidst the looming darkness.

He draped his coat over the back of his chair and flopped down with a sigh. Paperwork stared up at him. Normally, he would do everything in his power to avoid paperwork, but, well, these were hardly normal times, were they?

If he was being entirely truthful, Henry didn’t feel ready to go home just yet. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins. He probably wouldn’t get to sleep if he tried.

By the time his watch clicked to ten, he had completed paperwork from three other constables.

If it weren’t for Constable Pederson’s rather loud exclamation of surprise, Henry would have probably missed the whole thing.

“Oh, my god,” he whispered, stumbling to his feet. He  _ had  _ to be dreaming.

The constables that remained all gawked at the sight, lining up as if a saint had arrived at the station house. Detective Murdoch was acknowledging each and every one of the men with a nod, while Miss Marsh had her head down. Robert Graham, his hands cuffed behind his back and his suit soaked through, was in front of them, being escorted through the station house. Henry had never been more delighted to see a criminal look so miserable.

However, perhaps his delight cannot be fully credited towards Graham’s arrest. Because the man that was escorting him was someone all too familiar.

A ghost.

“ _ George, _ ” he gasped out. His mind had stopped working. He couldn’t comprehend this. George was  _ dead.  _ George had been  _ killed. _

“Higgins,” his friend replied, the lopsided grin a welcome sight.

“George!” Henry exclaimed again, lurching forward to give his friend a hug.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Henry,” George spat, “I have a criminal here!”

“R-right,” Henry stuttered, taking a step back. “Sorry.” He still couldn’t resist bouncing on his feet. Graham rolled his eyes.

“Take him round back to the cells, George,” Murdoch said as he hung his hat on the rack. “I’ll talk to him in the morning.”

“Sir.” Henry stuck his hand out eagerly, grinning like a fool. To his surprise, Murdoch gave him a firm handshake. “Henry. Good to see you.”

“You as well, sir,” he replied, eyes settling on Miss Marsh who stood behind the detective. He narrowed his eyes just the slightest. “Sir, is she…?”

“She’s alright,” Murdoch reassured him.

“Graham’s in the cells, sir,” George said as he emerged from the back. “Not particularly happy about it, I’ll wager. Do we know where Detective Watts and the Inspector are?”

“I believe they’ll be bringing Davis in shortly.”

“Ah, good.” George nodded before turning to Henry, who was standing in the middle of the conversation with his mouth hanging open.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” George exclaimed, slinging his arm around his friend’s shoulder. Henry startled. “Well, I-I-I suppose I have, actually,” he replied. George broke out into a smile, giving him a friendly punch. On Higgins’ injured arm. “Ow.”

“You really thought I’d died? I thought you were smarter than that, man!”

“Hey, you had a death certificate and all that business,” Henry defended. “So, is Jackson…?”

The joy fled from George’s face, and he shook his head solemnly. “No. I suppose that’s one ghost that won’t be making a reappearance tonight.”

The silence was heavy. Henry couldn’t bear it.

“Well, you’re here,” he said, “and so am I. I dare say this whole conspiracy is close to being done and dusted.”

“Once we apprehend all of Graham and Williams’ men,” George agreed. “So, tell me, what have you been doing the last three days? I heard the station was forced to stand down. I suppose you were happy to finally get paid for doing nothing.”

“I should be asking  _ you, _ ” Henry shot back. “Pretending to be dead, Doctor Ogden showing up dressed as a man, Detective Watts- I mean, I still don’t know what is going on here.”

“Oh, between you and me,” George dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t think anyone does.” He straightened up, the grin returning. “Now, come on. There’s this restaurant that I still believe is open. I haven’t eaten a good meal in days- I’m starving.”

George rambled on, but Henry wasn’t exactly listening to the details. His friend was  _ alive, _ he was  _ back,  _ he was  _ talking  _ to him with that ridiculous accent of his and though it had long since sunk into white noise, Henry wasn’t complaining.

He could listen to it all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A really rushed ending but hEY it's something  
Thanks for all your comments and support as I wrote this! It's appreciated much more than you can imagine!  
Until next time <3


End file.
